


In Which There Are Privateers And Too Much Fun Is Had

by morwen_of_gondor, Wishfulthinking1979



Series: O For A Muse Of Fire [5]
Category: Hornblower (TV), Hornblower - C. S. Forester, Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Crack Crossover, Crack Treated Seriously, Crossover, Epic Bromance, Friendship, Humor, Male Friendship, Two of them, also an optional chapter of, tall ships, well sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-12 07:41:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28506870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morwen_of_gondor/pseuds/morwen_of_gondor, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wishfulthinking1979/pseuds/Wishfulthinking1979
Summary: Continuing in this delightful friendship, Piett and Veers take a turn in the world of tall ships where Hornblower and Bush command the Nonsuch.It's a lovely day for a calm sail, don't you think General Veers?
Relationships: Firmus Piett & Maximilian Veers, William Bush & Horatio Hornblower
Series: O For A Muse Of Fire [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2060145
Comments: 46
Kudos: 14





	1. Beat to Quarters

**Author's Note:**

> Morwen and I are having stupid amounts of fun with this. So.... two chapters are necessary! 😉  
> Thank you as ever for reading!!

Veers lifted his face to the bright sun and squinted at the scudding clouds.

Well, he reflected, if he was bound to do this, at least the weather was agreeable.

Beside him, Piett wasn’t precisely…..quivering wasn’t the right word, the Admiral didn’t quiver, but, Veers could almost palpably feel his friend’s delight as they gazed out at the wooden ship. The wooden ship anchored in water.

Which Veers would shortly be embarking upon.

Force, why was he doing this again?

“Have you been on a ship before, Lieutenant?” Piett asked the young man on his other side.

Scraps smiled at him. “No sir, but it looks like a beautiful boat.”

Piett winced slightly at this and Veers grinned internally.

“Scraps. It is a ship. The _boat_ is coming to get us.”

“Gentlemen,” said a voice and he looked down to see a sailor had pulled up to the dock in a small wooden rowboat.

Kriffing hells.

“Admiral Hornblower sent me to convey ye to the Nonsuch. I’m Matthews.”

He touched his forehead in what Veers could only assume was a salute before rising with superb balance to offer a very calloused hand.

Piett made a little after you gesture, the happy bastard, and Veers was not going to let him see just how much he disliked this.

Of course he wasn’t.

Because his friend deserved all the happiness the galaxy could cough up, after the way it had kriffed Piett’s life numerous times, and Max Veers would see to it.

After mentally glaring down the galaxy, Veers took the offered hand, and made it to the boat with less grace than he would have liked.

Piett alighted with all the grace the General didn’t have, followed closely by his security lead, and then the big seaman was seated in the stern and pulling for the ship. 

Veers could acknowledge something lovely made of wood. It was a special hobby of his after all. And she did look rather magnificent in the sunshine, her white sails neatly furled against the blue sky.

“Max, look at those masts! Hand cut, Veers. And smoothed.”

Veers smiled fondly at his friend, who knew his hobby as well, and had chosen to draw him in by speaking of something he knew the General would appreciate.

“Gorgeous indeed, Firmus. I shall enjoy getting a closer look at them.”

Though as they drew nearer, Veers admitted to himself that his interest was more drawn to the dark mouths of the heavy cannon just visible in their neat rows along the side of the great ship. 

She was a tiny thing compared to even a small cruiser, but here, on this planet, there was something very majestic about her indeed.

****

Hornblower stood beside Bush on the quarterdeck of the _Nonsuch,_ watching as their guests climbed into the barge that Hornblower had sent for them. Even at this distance the three men were clearly distinguishable, by height if nothing else. Veers was first into the boat, and though he managed well enough it was clear that he was a landsman. Piett followed him with the ease of a born seaman, and his bodyguard did reasonably well. Then Matthews and his crew were pulling for the _Nonsuch,_ and Piett was gesturing excitedly at the ship. 

When the first gun of the salute fired, the only person who allowed his surprise to show was the bodyguard, whose hand twitched towards his hip as though he was reaching for a pistol. He checked the motion when Piett set a hand on his arm, but Hornblower frowned all the same. He trusted these men, but his last experience with a subordinate who carried a concealed pistol had not been a pleasant one. He would have to keep an eye on that young man.

The Admiral was the first to mount the _Nonsuch's_ side in deference to the usual order in which officers entered and left a boat. He kept his back perfectly straight and, for the most part, his eyes front, the picture of the perfect naval officer, but Hornblower did not miss his swift and appreciative glance about the deck as he stepped off of the ladder. Next came the General, clearly a little uneasy on the ship, and looking ready either for a physical attack or for the _Nonsuch_ to do something entirely unexpected and try to knock him off his feet. Last of all was the bodyguard, who was looking around himself in evident awe, but only after defiantly planting himself on his Admiral's left hand as though he expected to be told to leave. 

"Admiral Piett," he said, stepping forward, "welcome aboard His Majesty's ship _Nonsuch_. It's good to see you again."

“Thank you, Admiral, it’s a very great pleasure,” replied Piett, saluting in return and then grasping Hornblower’s hand.

“Mr. Bush, a pleasure to see you again, sir. I believe you gentlemen recall General Veers.”

The formalities of welcoming an admiral aboard his ship over, Bush had abandoned his formal expression and was grinning merrily -- perhaps even mischievously -- as he gave his hand to Veers. "A pleasure to have you aboard, sirs," he said.

“And this is Lieutenant Scraps who is in charge of my security detail.”

Scraps was clearly a little unsure if he should salute or shake hands, so Hornblower took pity on him and, as this was an informal visit, offered his hand.

Piett took in a deep breath of the salty wind blowing across the harbor, and looked in deep pleasure at the ship beneath his feet. The Lady didn’t creak like this, and he wouldn't want her to as that would mean catastrophic things indeed, but on board the Nonsuch this was normal.

He ran his eyes swiftly over the wheel and then over the heavy lines and cables, all in the exact places they should be.

Veers placed a hand on his shoulder. “You command a fleet in the stars, Firmus. Don’t you dare think of leaving us.”

Piett snorted lightly. “I wasn’t Veers. So, Admiral,” he said turning to the taller man who was watching him with a knowing eye, “what are our sailing orders?”

Hornblower cleared his throat and looked out over the sea. "Well," he said, "there's very little to do at the moment except wait for the French to make a move, and so I thought perhaps you would like to see what an ordinary day's sailing on the _Nonsuch_ is like."

Veers looked like that was just about his speed. Piett was fairly glowing.

“Absolutely, sir. And I would not wish to get in the way of your crew, but I am also quite happy to take orders today. I have some knowledge here if you could use it.”

He ignored Veers’ put upon sigh.

Hornblower and Bush exchanged meaning glances. "The wind looks a little stiff out beyond the bay, Captain Bush," Hornblower said thoughtfully. "Perhaps Admiral Piett would like to offer his assistance to the helmsman? I hesitate to give orders to one whose rank is above mine, of course."

“Give orders, sir,” smiled Piett, removing his cap and handing it to Scraps who was looking rather uncertain now. “I’m all yours.”

“Well now that puts pressure on me,” the General stated, looking far less confident but this was a man who would face anything with stoic disdain even if it meant his death and he looked expectantly at Hornblower. 

Hornblower looked thoughtfully over the _Nonsuch,_ wondering what sort of task he could give to the General that would include him with his friend but was not demeaning labour. Then he caught Bush's eye, and noticed that his captain was looking significantly at the marine guard which had turned out to welcome the Admiral aboard. "Major Williams," he called. Then, turning to General Veers, he said, "Perhaps you would care to observe our marine guard at drill, sir? I am sure Major Williams would appreciate the opportunity to give his men practice at their work, and you can provide him with another pair of eyes."

Veers inclined his head calmly, but Piett knew his friend well enough to see the relief at being given something he could understand. 

“Thank you, I would enjoy that.”

“Lieutenant, you may join me at the wheel,” Piett told Scraps. “I am afraid that if you are going to insist on joining me for missions such as this, I am going to make you learn something.”

He moved to the polished wheel and inclined his head at the man. “By your leave….” he said and the burly helmsman touched his forehead and allowed Piett to take the wheel. 

“Your orders, sir?” Piett asked, and Scraps was impressed at his Admiral, because that wheel was heavy and Piett was of a slight build. 

"Captain Bush," Hornblower said, turning courteously to the man.

"Set topsails," Bush's voice rang out over the ship. "Up anchor. Helm a-lee."

The men sprang to work at once. Some of the white sails unfurled from their yards and began to catch the wind, and Piett grasped the wheel firmly, turning it ever so slightly to guide the big ship as she made her majestic way out of the harbor. 

“One does not want to yank her about, Scraps,” Piett informed his lieutenant. “She is a lady and must be treated as such.”

Scraps was inclined to smile but as he looked around at all the faces of the officers, he realized that not only were they serious, they all nodded as though this was normal.

“Ahem. Yes, sir,” he replied, therefore. 

Bush had looked doubtful when Piett demonstrated his intention of replacing the helmsman entirely. _Nonsuch_ was his first real command, and he was understandably protective of her. But his face relaxed when he saw the Admiral's smooth steering, and he smiled outright to hear the man instruct his lieutenant in the manners due to a lady of the seas.

Seeing that two of their three guests were occupied, Hornblower looked about for the third. Major Williams had his entire Marine guard on parade. He might not be entirely sure which country Veers was a General of, but the man's uniform was immaculate and his bearing carried authority, and Williams knew an air of command when he met one. The Major had handed over his own musket to Veers, who was inspecting it with considerable interest. As Hornblower watched, Veers raised the weapon to his shoulder, and, aiming over the nearest rail, fired. The Major produced a ramrod, and evidently proceeded to instruct Veers in the proper way of reloading a musket. Then he barked an order to the Marines, who arranged themselves into two ranks, and showed how they could maintain continuous fire when each rank reloaded while the other fired.

“What are they firing, sir?” Scraps asked curiously as he and Piett watched this with interest, Piett keeping half an eye on where he was guiding the Nonsuch.

“I am not as familiar with firearms of this time,” the Admiral replied. “Mr. Bush, what ammunition is this?”

"Just your ordinary musket ball, sir," Bush said from where he still stood near the wheel. He was no longer watching Piett's steering with suspicion, but seemed happiest there all the same. "About three-quarters of an inch across, if that's what you mean. But out here it's the cannon that are the most use. Once we're well away from land, perhaps we can show you some real artillery."

He rubbed his hands together and looked proudly down the _Nonsuch's_ deck, which concealed the two tiers of cannon ready to deal destruction to any foe foolish enough to challenge her -- for in the little Baltic sea, she was the greatest naval force in existence.

Piett and Scraps glanced at each other.

“What is a musket ball, Captain Bush?” Scraps asked, striving not to sound too much like an ignorant school boy and ignoring the superior looks from a few midshipmen.

Bush looked rather surprised, but then accepted the question philosophically, having seen the world to which Piett and Scraps were used, and waved over the nearest marine to show them his musket and the accompanying ammunition.

Scraps winced slightly. “This must cause a great deal of damage, sir,” he commented. “The closest thing we might experience would be to get hit with metal shrapnel. Not an experience I would wish on anyone. Have you been hit with these rounds?”

"Never by a musket," Bush said wryly. "Those are mostly used on land, and I'm a man of the sea, thank you. I've had a close call or two with pistols, but before this," and he gestured to the wooden leg, which Scraps had nearly forgotten, for it did not seem to hinder its owner in the least, "the worst wounds I'd taken were from a Spanish dagger. Admiral Hornblower found me among the dead that time."

It was Piett’s turn to react to that, with the slightest tightening of his jaw. “I’m sorry to hear that Mr. Bush,” he said. “I must agree with Scraps, I’d rather be hit with a blaster than these weapons. Knife wounds are….well.” Something seemed to sink in.

“You were left for dead?” he asked intently, correcting the wheel ever so slightly as the third rate moved fully into the open sea. 

Bush looked faintly embarrassed, but explained nonetheless. "It was on the _Renown_ \-- Sawyer's ship. He was mad by that point and the first lieutenant, Buckland, was in command. We'd taken two Spanish forts and three prizes in an action a few days ago -- all planned by Hornblower, for all that he was a junior lieutenant then -- and there were nearly more prisoners on board than there were sailors. Some of the women got loose. Nobody was ever quite sure how, but it's easy enough to guess, and they set the men loose, and by the time anyone noticed the ship was nearly overrun. I was lucky enough to wake before they tied me into my bed like they did poor old Buckland."

Piett made a sound of outrage. “What did you do?” he asked, glancing up at the other Admiral, standing above them.

"I was in command of one of the prizes at the time," Hornblower said. "I hadn't the faintest idea what was going on until I heard musket fire and saw the _Renown_ come up into the wind like the man at the wheel was either a fool or dead."

“How did you manage, Captain Bush?” Scraps asked, frowning.

"Took my pistols and sword and did my best to rally the men, of course," Bush said matter-of-factly. "Those who were left alive and free anyway, and there weren't many. I hardly even noticed that the Dons had knifed me until I fought my way into the open and found I couldn't make myself move to join Hornblower's charge."

Piett nodded approvingly. “Well done, sir. One has to try after all. It is your ship they were attacking.”

"It wouldn't have done me or anyone else a mite of good if Captain -- begging your pardon, Admiral -- Hornblower hadn't come up just then with the prize crews," Bush answered. "He swept the prisoners right off the deck again, and it was glorious to see."

Piett smiled at him. “It clearly did some good, sir. You gave the Admiral time to get to you after all. That’s all anyone could ask.”

Bush smiled and glanced downwards as though embarrassed once more.

“Are you discussing the habit you have of throwing yourself between all threats to your ship and crew?” Veers called from the main deck. “Or are both you and Mr. Bush of a similar disposition here?”

Piett raised an eyebrow at him, almost in tandem with Hornblower. Bush hastily stifled a fit of coughing. "It sounds like you have a few stories to tell yourself, sir," he said when he had recovered.

The shorter man sighed longsufferingly. “General Veers likes to exaggerate…”

Scraps coughed lightly and the General laughed in open derision.

“..... _particularly,”_ Piett continued with supreme disdain, “as he is usually right next to me for these incidents.”

Veers returned his attention to the Marines, impressed by the efficiency with which they operated, given the comparatively primitive nature of their weapons and ammunition. 

He still missed his blaster at his hip, but the principles of explosive force here were interesting.

“Does the same sort of loading method and materials apply to these cannon, then?” he asked, touching the cold iron next to him.

“Quite similar, sir, yes. We….”

"Sail ho!" came a voice from up in the shrouds as they rounded the point. "Two points off the starboard bow! She's not one of our squadron!"

Bush and Hornblower produced telescopes and turned as one towards the ship. "Rigged like a Frenchman, sir," Bush said, suppressed excitement evident in his voice. "Clear for action!" he shouted, turning away from his admiral and towards his lieutenants, who promptly echoed the shout, as the deck of the _Nonsuch_ became a hive of disciplined but hurried activity.

"Well, gentlemen," Hornblower said, turning to the slightly out-of-place pair at the wheel, "it seems that we will be able to show you something more than simply gun practice. If you wish it, I can recall the regular helmsman."

“Absolutely, sir,” Piett replied and Veers frowned because the Admiral did not sound in the least concerned. He sounded….. _excited._ The General knew that look and came to stand by Piett on the quarterdeck.

“Firmus….were you…. _aware_ that this was a possibility?”

Piett was giving him his very best bland countenance, and Veers sighed. 

“That fools everyone but me, _Admiral._ Of all the _kriffing_ …”

And there was a whistling overhead, and a hole appeared in one of _Nonsuch's_ sails. Bush whistled softly. "That captain's a bold one," he said, almost admiringly. "Caught between us and the shore, and he knows it, so he'll try to bluff his way out and hope we're surprised enough to let him by." 

"And he's either remarkably lucky or has an excellent gunner," Hornblower added. "We're at the farthest range that those little popguns could possibly reach. Ah! There are her colours. French, indeed." 

Scraps was eyeing the ship approaching them. _Did it have the same sort of guns that the Nonsuch did?_ Because if so, he was becoming rather concerned now. 

"Hold your fire!" Bush roared, and Scraps flinched a little at the sheer volume the man was capable of producing. "We'll stand his broadside well enough, but he won't stand ours. He thought he could bluff his way past us -- well, he can't. Stand by your guns, and be ready to fire when the word is given." 

He was answered by cheers, which were quickly stifled by the lieutenants, however, as the men waited by their guns. The frantic activity of a few moments ago had been replaced by a tense and ready stillness, in despite of the continued fire from the privateer which whistled overhead to splash in the water, or, more occasionally, to crash into the boards of the _Nonsuch_. 

Veers glared at Piett who had just rocked slightly up on his toes. 

“You are unbelievable. We are about to get shot at by large metal balls which cause awful damage, because, may I remind you, Admiral, this is a _wooden_ ship!” He said this last in a whisper so as not to offend their hosts. 

“Hush, Max, it will be fun,” Piett patted his arm, and turned to Hornblower. 

“We don’t wish to be in your way, sir, where would you like us?” 

“Back on the Lady,” Scraps muttered. 

"Well, gentlemen, if you wish for the place of greatest safety I can send you to the cable tier, but if you do not mind a little risk and wish to see a British ship of the line in action, you may remain on the quarterdeck." 

“Thank you, Admiral,” Piett replied, and yes his hazel eyes were glowing in anticipation. 

“Sir,” Scraps said, voicing Veers’ thought, “you frighten me sometimes.” 

Bush was rubbing his hands together again, and there was a grin on his face that under other circumstances would have been rather endearing. As it was, he looked positively frightening. The Frenchman continued firing as they drew closer, using only her bow-chasers, and then abruptly heeled over and turned hard towards the windward, away from the coast against which the _Nonsuch_ had hoped to pin her. If she could claw to windward far enough to escape that trap, it would be a stern chase, and the lightly built privateer could unquestionably show a clean pair of heels to the heavier third-rate. 

Veers was keeping half an eye on the gunners and half an eye on his friend, wondering if their ships would get close enough that he might have to physically keep Piett from trying to board the Frenchman himself. 

"Captain Bush," Hornblower said quietly, "set all sail, if you please, and let us run before the wind." 

"She'll get to windward of us if we do that, sir," Bush said warningly, but in the same soft tone. 

"That won't matter if we get a broadside into her," Hornblower answered. 

"Aye aye, sir. Set all sail!" he added, voice crescendoing to a roar. "Let the wind have her! Stand ready to fire there!" 

The Frenchman had gambled dangerously. The two ships were in a wide, shallow bay, with the _Nonsuch_ outermost, and so, though the Frenchman could have shown them a clean pair of heels, he would have run straight against the swell of land that marked the further extremity of the bay, and been caught by the _Nonsuch_ there. As a result, he had first held his course towards them, and then, perilously, sacrificed his lead on the _Nonsuch_ for a precious bit of space to windward, hoping that his British opponent would waste time beating to windward after him and give him time to gain the freedom of the sea. Hornblower had not taken the bait, and now _Nonsuch_ came racing down towards the privateer like a great eagle after a hawk. "Fire as your guns bear! Aim to cripple her if you can!" Bush shouted, and the earsplitting crash of the guns rent the air, one after another, as powder smoke briefly shrouded the deck before the wind blew it for'ard and cleared the air again. 

“Magnificent,” Piett breathed, gripping the rail and looking out towards the struggling privateer. Her rigging was battered and full of holes and there was no doubt that the broadside had done its work. “Excellent choice. What was the Captain thinking, wasting his lead….?” 

"He was hoping to do enough damage to our rigging to cripple us, no doubt," Hornblower said in answer. "If he had managed to shoot away a spar or two, he might have slowed _Nonsuch_ enough to allow him to escape." 

Veers was watching the guns reload, having accepted that Piett was lost in naval mutterings that he would not understand. But they were close enough to the other ship now, that the General realized what was coming a half second before Bush stated, with paradoxical cheerfulness, “For what we are about to receive….” 

And the French guns returned the favor, even though it was clear they had no hope of defeating the _Nonsuch._ "Popguns" Hornblower had called them, but they were more than capable of wreaking destruction on deck even if they could not sink the larger ship. Splinters of wood went flying around them, and a musket ball embedded itself in the railing quite close to Bush's hand. Hornblower grunted and winced, and Bush turned to him in instant concern to see that he had one hand pressed to his side, blood staining his fingers. "It's nothing," Hornblower snapped. "A graze. Splinter didn't even stay in. Don't bother with me, damn it, see to the ship!" 

“Oh kriff,” Piett swore, “that’s the mainyard!” 

Scraps had no idea what that meant, only that _Nonsuch_ was moving oddly as part of her sail seemed to be drooping. 

“Cut it away, damn you!” Piett snapped, then realized that they had several casualties, and the seamen who would have done just that were moaning on deck. 

Swiftly, the Admiral had his knife out of his boot and practically flew down the ladder to the main deck before flinging himself to the rigging and shimmying up it as though born to it. 

“Force _damn_ it, Firmus!” Veers growled, heart in his throat, as he watched his friend move with impressive agility to the damaged yardarm and begin sawing at the ropes holding the damaged and trailing sail. He was balanced precariously, one arm looped through the rigging as he worked. 

There was a faint popping noise Veers didn’t understand at first, until he saw Piett flinch and realization swept through him as he remembered the half-inch ball of lead in the rail beside Bush's hand. 

Musket fire. From the enemy. 

“I need a weapon!” the General roared. 

French was it? He would introduce himself. He snatched up a musket from one of the fallen marines, sending the man a silent apology, but he needed to defend, not provide medical care. 

Bush had turned away from Hornblower at Piett's shout, but as soon as he saw someone ascend the rigging to free the sail, he turned back over Hornblower's protests to satisfy himself that his admiral's injury was indeed minor. The instant he had seen to that, the battle demanded his attention once more. The larboard guns were already being reloaded, and the French privateer had not yet lowered his colours. "Helm a-weather!" he bellowed. "Boarding parties at the ready!" 

Piett couldn’t get a decent grip. There was nothing for it, this sail needed to come off. He hauled himself over the yardarm, stretching out on his stomach to cut the remaining lines. His side hurt and he was reasonably sure he had been hit, but whether it was shrapnel or a bullet, he couldn’t be sure. He got a firm grip and within moments, the sail was free. 

“Piett!” He could hear Veers, but then a volley came over his head and he ducked to lie flat against the spar. 

Veers sighted down the musket at the kriffers firing on his friend. It was difficult as this was a primitive weapon and he was on a ship, but then, he had fired from a moving walker before as well. 

He fired, and had the satisfaction of seeing a form topple over the side of the other ship. 

"Back the mainsail!" Bush shouted, and the _Nonsuch,_ which had begun to outstrip the disabled privateer as she drifted to leeward, towards both the land and the _Nonsuch,_ was checked in her course. 

Scraps watched as his Admiral, _his Admiral_ , did something with the lines in answer to the Captain’s call, alongside the other seamen. Deciding the best way he could help Piett was to take out the threat, he snatched up a belaying pin, and looked to Bush who was leading his men toward the enemy ship. 

There was a crash and then a grinding sound as the still-drifting privateer struck her side and the yardarms locked. The instant the two ships struck together, the first of the boarding parties sprang over the side, led by Bush himself, pistol in hand and sword drawn. 

Scraps joined them, trying to avoid looking down at the ships rolling together as he crossed to the deck of the French ship. 

Bush sprang from his quarterdeck right over to that of the privateer, and discharged his pistol into the first man who hindered him. The next moment he was staring down his sword into the astonished face of the French captain, who evidently had not expected to be boarded like this -- or perhaps not to be boarded by Bush, as the man's eyes flickered briefly to his wooden leg and up again. Then the man had drawn his own sword and they were at it hammer and tongs. A yelling Frenchman sprang up on the quarterdeck and made for Bush, who braced himself for the second attack, only for the man to fall suddenly, clubbed by a belaying pin in the hands of a tall slim form in olive green uniform. Bush met the eyes of Piett's flag lieutenant and gave him a brief nod before turning back to the battle. 

The lieutenant -- Scraps -- made short work of clearing the rest of the quarterdeck. Bush, for the second time that day, stared down his sword at the French captain. This time the man dropped the point of his own blade and turned the hilt towards Bush. 

“Now what, sir?” Scraps panted, coming to his side and glaring at the Frenchman. 

"Now, Mr. Scraps," he said, "we send a prize crew aboard and send the prize back to England. We shall have to see what rules apply to cases where a guest helps in the taking of a prize. You've done more than the duty of a guest, for sure." 

“I don’t need a prize, Captain,” Scraps replied, “I’ll just be happy to know that my Admiral is in one piece after this.” 

Bush grinned at him. "You might have taken the words out of my mouth, Mr. Scraps. But yours looked lively enough in the rigging when I saw him last. I daresay he's all right." 

“Permission to go and find out, sir?” 

"Granted. Send my lieutenant over with a prize crew. He'll know what to do. And see about mine too, will you?" 

“Your….?” Scraps looked slightly puzzled. 

"My Admiral." Bush was still smiling. "You and General Veers look after yours, and I look after mine in much the same way, I've noticed." 

A look of understanding passed between the two men and Scraps saluted, before making his treacherous way back across to the Nonsuch. 

Veers reached up to give his friend a hand down the last bit of the rigging, as it was evident Piett was moving carefully. 

“Firmus….” he sighed, “we need to have Henley look at that.” 

Piett had a hand pressed to his bloody side, but he was grinning. “All right, yes, fine. I can’t really feel it at the moment, Max. Did you _see_ ….?” 

_He was like a boy with the greatest toy in the world. Veers would know, Zev had looked like that…._

“Yes, Admiral,” Veers said fondly, “you terrified the ever loving hells out of me, but you were magnificent.” 

Piett looked at him curiously. “No, not what I was doing. The ship!! How she responded? And then the gunners with that broadside….!” 

Veers sighed and guided his favorite person to sit on a coil of cables. 

He wondered how Bush was faring with his admiral. 

Scarcely feeling the pain of the splinter that had grazed his side, Hornblower looked out over the _Nonsuch,_ where the slight disarrangement and damage caused by their fight with the privateer was already being set to rights under Bush's keen eye, as the prize crew took charge of the privateer and readied her to sail to England. 

He had leisure now to think of their guests, and worry struck him as the vivid picture of a small green-clad form dangling precariously in the rigging returned to his mind, and of another following Bush into the moil of battle on the prize ship, wielding a belaying pin. Now he looked about to see what had become of them, and saw the General helping the Admiral down from the rigging. The aforementioned Admiral's uniform was stained with blood, but he did not seem to care, for his face was alight with a wide smile. The General wore an expression of worry mixed with fondness. And he remembered seeing the lieutenant, leaping warily back on board the _Nonsuch,_ belaying pin still in hand -- ah, there he was, smiling with relief as he looked at the two of them together. 

Hornblower could breathe easily once more: his guests and his friends were all safe alike. "A good day and a good action, Captain Bush," he said. 

"That it was, sir," Bush said contentedly. "And our guests seem to think the same." 

"So they do," Hornblower said, and found that he was smiling, rather to his surprise. "So they do." 


	2. Sailing the Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our characters return to the Lady and meet some new friends. And Dr. Henley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can see, this has grown yet another chapter. The characters are having so much fun here it's hard to say no when they want to do more stuff!

Veers eyed his more diminutive friend. Piett was having a very lively conversation with Bush about tactics and the reasons they did what they did, something about tacking, and his enthusiasm for being in the rigging, which Bush had evidently shared before his lost leg relegated him to the deck. 

He sighed internally, hoping that Henley wasn’t going to slaughter them for the injuries they were bringing back and managed to catch the eye of Admiral Hornblower, who was sitting across from him. 

“How bad is your injury sir?” he asked, gesturing the hand that the Admiral had pressed to his side.

"Hardly worth the name, sir. A flying splinter caught me, that's all."

Veers raised an eyebrow at him, his instincts telling him that this man was just as bad as Piett. However, as this was not his Admiral, he did not feel he could press the matter.

“I would be deeply delighted to take you to the Lady’s bridge,” Piett said, appreciating that Captain Bush was eminently sensible and had not made any mention of the blood on his uniform. He had caught Veers glaring on occasion, and was studiously ignoring him.

"It is I who would be delighted, sir," Hornblower answered. "I find my imagination quite unable to answer to the descriptions you have given me of your Lady and her sister ships. Would it be possible for a layman to understand her construction and engines to some extent?"

Piett chuckled. “I would hardly refer to you as such, sir. It may be different technology but many of the purposes are the same. Certainly, the bridge has similar stations to your own vessel. Bigger of course, and much simpler to operate….”

“Admiral,” Veers interposed with unmistakable meaning in his tone, “that will be an excellent tour _after_ sickbay.”

Piett huffed slightly. He felt _fine._ It was a _scratch._ “Thank you, General,” was all he said in reply, fully intending to slip away once they landed. 

Hornblower cleared his throat. "I would be deeply remorseful if my presence were to stand between you and any necessary medical treatment, sir," he said.

At that moment the pilot caught their attention. “Sir! I have a fine view of the Lady if you would like to come up!”

Piett made an ‘after you’ gesture to Bush and Hornblower, who remembered to nod their gratitude before hurrying forward to look out of the front viewscreen.

She floated serenely in the stars, her sleek familiar arrow shape bringing Piett a warm sense of comfort and her running lights were glowing blue at the moment. 

Then he glanced back at his guests, whose reactions would have satisfied even the most demanding of hosts. Bush's mouth was open, and his face wore an expression of simple awe. If Hornblower's nose was a centimetre from the viewscreen, it was certainly no more, and there were ten thousand questions dancing in his keen brown eyes, tripping over each other in their eagerness to be first out, and quite effectively silencing him. "Damn my eyes," Bush finally said, with a reverent note in his voice despite the profanity, "she's a beauty."

Hornblower nodded without moving his eyes from the spectacle the Lady made, floating among the stars. "I have never seen the like," he said, "in all my years at sea. But then," he added with a slightly nervous laugh, "we are not at sea."

"Never thought there'd be a navy with no sea," Bush said, still in a wondering voice. "Not in all my days. Where...where are we, anyway?" he asked, turning to Piett.

“Ah,” replied the Admiral, deeply appreciating the admiration of his Lady. “That would be difficult to explain. A galaxy quite far from yours. Currently we are close to Dantooine, which is a planet,” he added hastily.

"A galaxy?" Hornblower asked, removing his nose from the viewscreen for the first time to look curiously at Piett.

“Indeed, sir,” Veers said, “one of many multitudes.”

“Admiral,” said the pilot, “we’re beginning landing maneuvers, sir…”

“Ah yes,” Piett replied, “we should sit. We don’t tend to have bad landings but…”

"Well, now that you've said that, sir..." Bush said, with a tentative grin.

Piett returned it. “I know, very true, but as Lord Vader is not piloting I feel we’re quite safe.”

"Isn't Lord Vader your commanding officer?" Hornblower asked.

“He is,” Veers said, shaking his head at his friend. “And invoking him in this context is not the best of luck either. Honestly, Firmus…..”

"And does he customarily pilot his own barge? I know that is not the right word, but…" Hornblower trailed off, a little embarrassed.

Veers chuckled at the idea of Lord Vader piloting a barge.

“Ah…... he does,” Piett replied. “We call them shuttles here. The one we’re on is a lamda.”

But the shuttle touched down beautifully on the polished deck of the Lady without incident. 

"A lambda," Hornblower said thoughtfully. "Like the Greek letter in mathematics."

Bush, standing slightly behind his admiral as etiquette demanded, gave the back of Hornblower's head a very fond but pointed look, and then shook his head with a smile.

“I’m not familiar with that alphabet,” Piett said as the landing ramp lowered and he moved swiftly toward it. “Perhaps you could explain?” he asked casually shepherding Hornblower toward the bay doors. 

_And perfect. Baldwin was approaching. Diversion._

“Chief!” he called. “We have some guests who would be most happy to meet you. Mr. Bush, this is our chief engineer, Mr. Baldwin. Baldwin this is Captain Bush and this is Admiral Hornblower.”

Baldwin smiled broadly and held a hand out to Bush, who took it and shook it firmly. "A pleasure, Mr. Baldwin," he said.

Hornblower stepped up beside him almost at once. "Beg pardon, sir, but as chief engineer perhaps you would not mind giving a brief explanation of a few first principles? Captain Bush and I are strangers here, and I must confess myself very curious about the operation of your ship."

“I’d be delighted, Admiral but I have a few things to do first. I have Walker 7 to finish repairing. You recall you said about that knee joint no one could figure out sir,” he continued, looking to Veers.

"At your convenience, sir, of course," Hornblower said politely, just as Bush asked, "Walkers?"

Veers brightened. “They are my ‘Herd’ if you will, Captain. As an army man, we no longer use four footed biological creatures, having made a few advances. We’re in our hangar bay if you come this way….”

Perfect. Piett touched Hornblower’s shoulder. “While they discuss army business, sir, perhaps I could take you to the bridge?”

Hornblower gave him a rather conspiratorial look of amusement. "It would be my pleasure, sir."

Piett led them out of the bay to a lift and might _possibly_ have heard a ‘Force _damn_ it, Firmus,’ closely followed by an indignant and concerned 'Sir!' but wasn’t _quite_ sure as the doors swished closed. 

“The ship is rather large, Admiral,” he said looking at Hornblower as the lift moved smoothly along. “This will take about ten minutes.”

A niggling voice in the back of his head told him that common sense would send him to sickbay first, but his adrenaline was rather high with the excitement of showing Hornblower the Lady.

Hornblower briefly struggled to control the look of curiosity that had been growing on his face since he set foot on the Lady, and cleared his throat once or twice before giving up the struggle, and asking, "Ten minutes at what rate of speed, sir?"

“Some of the lifts can get up to 60 miles an hour, but that is usually horizontal travel. We are going up and thus our rate is perhaps 45 miles an hour.”

"45 miles per hour...what powers these...lifts...at such high speeds?"

Piett gave the other Admiral a slight smile. “The Lady herself is powered by the plasma core. Our power conduits are all attached in various ways to that. But you would need to pick the Chief’s brain for minutia. I have a surface ability when it comes to engineering.”

Meanwhile in the bay, Veers moved swiftly toward another lift. He didn’t run---Generals did not run and besides he had Bush, with his wooden leg, trying gamely to keep up with him.

Bush was at the moment giving him a measuring look out of those incongruously blue eyes. He seemed to come to a decision as they reached the nearest lift, and said, "Should have known that would happen."

“Oh yes?” Veers responded, holding the doors and motioning to the Captain. “Lose yours often do you?”

Another sharp look was his first answer to that question, but whatever the Captain saw in his face must have been satisfactory. "Lose, no. Get ordered to stay behind while he goes haring off into the blue, yes. It was a good deal easier while I was senior."

It was Veers’ turn to be surprised as he willed the lift to travel faster. _You’re bleeding, Piett for kriff’s sake._ “You were…..senior?”

"Second lieutenant on the _Renown_ to his third, for one voyage. After that he was made commander, and then post-captain. Me, now, I'd never have been posted captain at all if it weren't for him. He's brilliant, and that's all there is to it."

There were many ways that Veers actually thought Admiral Hornblower might get on with Lord Vader when it came to intellect, but wasn’t sure he should voice that thought.

“I believe you, Captain,” he said, “my Admiral is simultaneously the best man I know, and a self sacrificing kriffer. Don’t tell him I said that. And in the moment, you are witnessing one of his great passions in life---the Lady. I rather believe he might even have forgotten he’s been shot.”

Bush snorted. "If mine hasn't forgotten about that splinter that got him it's a close thing. He's got a whole new field of navigation open to him now, and that would be enough to keep him from noticing anything else for at least a week even if it weren't coupled with all of...this," he finished, gesturing at the lift for want of words to describe what he was thinking.

Veers nodded. “All right then. There’s no hope of beating them to the bridge and I may care about my friend, but I won’t order him around on his own bridge. We’ll need to be subtle with this.”

Bush sighed, and looked at the wall of the lift with an expression which spoke volumes about how well he expected subtlety to work.

“I know,” Veers replied, “but it’s worth a shot.”

*****

The doors hissed open and Piett felt a warm glow as he stepped onto the bridge, the deck officer calling his presence to the rest of the crew present.

Kelly came to meet him midway down the central walkway.

“Sir, it’s very good to have you….Admiral. You’re….”

“Captain Kelly, Admiral Hornblower,” Piett said, smoothly interrupting the younger man with a lifted eyebrow.

Kelly snapped out a smart salute, with only the faintest hints of confusion and concern evident in his expression, and Hornblower returned it with a touch of two fingers to the side of his hat. "A pleasure, Captain," he said. "You command a truly magnificent ship."

“Ah...thank you, Admiral,” Kelly managed, but Piett was already moving to the top of the walkway.

“This is my favorite place, Admiral,” he told the taller man as he came to his side. “I can watch the stars and the battle from here.”

Hornblower stepped up to join him and clasped his hands behind his back, looking out at the starfield with a smile. "I think I could stand here for days," he mused quietly. 

Piett looked at him in delighted understanding.

“Yes,” he answered, placing his hands behind his back as well, and not noticing the grins of the Pit crew. “That is precisely it.”

Veers stepped onto the bridge and stopped in the anteroom as Kelly hurried up to him.

“General,” he hissed, “I’m reasonably sure the Admiral is wounded sir….”

Veers gave him a look. “Yes, Kelly, that would be why I and Mr. Bush are here. Incidentally, Captain Bush, Captain Kelly. Now, how can we get our two Admirals off the bridge and into sickbay without it being a giant drama?”

Captain Bush suffered a fit of coughing at this point, which he stifled with great difficulty.

“Was that an idea sir, or an observation on our situation?” Veers asked dryly. 

Bush gave him a reproachful look. "Something in my throat, that's all," he said firmly.

Veers rolled his eyes. Very well it was up to him…..

….but in that moment, giant drama arrived.

Lord Vader stepped out of the lift that led directly to the bridge and gave their little group a swift assessing look. He frowned and then looked up toward the central walkway, his eyes lingering on the little blood spatters he could see on the otherwise gleaming deck.

“Admiral Piett,” he intoned, and the man wasn’t shouting but the whole bridge straightened its collective spine at that tone.

Piett didn’t spin around, but Veers was maliciously satisfied to see his friend looking exceedingly startled indeed.

_Didn’t see that coming, did you, Firmus?_

Hornblower's shoulders had suddenly gone rigid at the baritone voice which seemed to echo around the bridge. Whether it was from surprise or for some other reason was anyone's guess. Bush was looking startled again; a sarcastic and intent observer might have warned him that the expression was looking like being permanent, but nobody could have denied that it was justified. 

After a measured moment, Hornblower turned around, face perfectly impassive, and betraying his surprise at the apparition that faced him only by a slight widening of the eyes. Anakin Skywalker, formerly Darth Vader, was at least the equal in height and breadth of anyone on the bridge. Clad in simple black clothes that would look familiar to anyone who knew his son, bearing no indicator of rank save his lightsaber, but with a long cloak billowing behind him as he walked, he made an imposing figure indeed. The keen blue eyes which looked out of his heavily scarred face were currently fixed on Admiral Piett.

“My Lord,” Piett managed, coming partway down the central walk. “I….was not informed of your arrival.”

“Indeed,” intoned his Lordship, staring very intently at Piett’s side, “but that was perhaps, just as well, given that my Admiral is displaying a rather reckless attitude toward his health at the moment.”

Veers was not smiling, but Kelly had a slight cough and the General nudged him subtly with an elbow.

“My Lord,” protested Piett “I am not reckless….it….”

The finger came up. “ _Reckless._ You are to report to sickbay at once.”

Piett shot a swift glance at Hornblower and Bush, but Lord Vader was not to be deterred from his unnerving stare at his Admiral.

Deciding discretion was the better part of valor, Piett swallowed.

“Aye sir.”

Veers grinned at Kelly who glared back before they exited the blast doors. Hornblower and Bush, perhaps feeling that it was the part of polite guests to accompany their hosts, or perhaps feeling the effects of Lord Vader's glare by proxy, followed them out, both speechless.

“Was that….?” Hornblower started, managing to recover speech just outside the blast doors.

Piett coughed and straightened his jacket. 

“Yes, Admiral, that would be my commanding officer. And….” he trailed off, a new threat having just materialized. 

And she was _furious._

Piett hadn’t expected to run into her quite this soon and certainly not coming right off of the bridge after Lord Vader’s spectacular display.

“My dear….”

Her brown eyes were frightening indeed as she took in the bloody hand he was holding to his side.

“Admiral. I love you deeply. But for the _love of the galaxy,_ you are _bleeding!_ What on earth were you doing on the kriffing bridge???”

“Ah, well. It’s just a flesh wound, dear girl and you see, the Admiral has a limited amount of time to see the bridge….”

Hornblower was looking at her with a level of confusion that seemed quite out of proportion to the surprise of her appearance. "Admiral Piett," he said slowly, "I thought you said that your Lady was herself the ship. How can she be both? Is this...forgive me...madam? I am not sure of the correct form of address…"

Piett knew that he had far too much adrenaline right now. And endorphins. He was practically euphoric after the successful naval battle. He blamed this for the snort of laughter he couldn’t contain, and the princess continued to stare at Hornblower quizzically. 

“Why….” she began slowly, turning her face with magnificent presence to him, “would...Admiral Hornblower is it?...believe that I am the _Lady_?”

Piett could feel the Lady as well, both her disapproval at his physical state, and her approval at being mistaken for the princess. It was very odd having both emotions from her at the same time. 

“That…..may take some time to explain, princess,” put in Veers, a firm hand around Piett’s bicep. As though he was going anywhere. He was perfectly capable of taking care of himself, _thank you_ General, and….

Oh.

_Oh dear. Adrenaline did crash as well, he recalled._

There were two of the princess now and she hurriedly moved to his other side, frosty tone forgotten.

“Admiral dear….I’ve got him on this side, General….”

They were moving and Piett realized Hornblower was trailing along after them with a bemused look on his face, Bush at his side.

“Just a little….a little….dizzy….” he managed, but her highness was shushing him.

“You already have an infection going,” she paused and concentrated in the Force… “that….there’s _metal_ in there! What is that?”

Piett looked pleadingly to Veers as he was feeling so very tired all of a sudden and the General sighed.

“ _That,_ your highness, is something called a musket ball. And it needs to come out.”

******

Hornblower and Bush trailed confusedly after the Admiral, the General, and the woman who was not the Lady. Part way there, Hornblower found himself obliged to lean on Bush's shoulder; his wound was not serious but his head seemed to be swimming for some reason. Perhaps he had bled more than he realised. 

The instant they stepped through the door of what seemed to be their destination, they were set upon by a tall man with greying hair and an irritated expression that looked as though it might be a permanent part of his face. He was wielding a block of what looked like metal, which flashed coloured lights as he waved it at the two of them. In addition to his general expression of irritation, at the moment he also looked personally affronted by said flashing lights. "Kriffing hell," he said furiously, still waving the block. "Typhus. _Smallpox._ Do you realise that this scanner is accessing the historical archives to even _identify_ what all is in your blood? And what in the name of the nine Corellian hells is THAT?"

He had stopped looking affronted at the flashing screen and was now staring at Bush's wooden leg. Hornblower drew himself up to defend his captain. He would have expected better of these men than to insult his friend for an injury gotten in battle. Either unaware of his anger or simply ignoring it, the man carried on with his tirade. "That's a prosthetic I wouldn't fit to a dog! Haven't you men got doctors? I'd bet a deci to a credit that amputation was bungled too. Force, man, it's a wonder you're walking!"

A little dazed, Hornblower concluded that a vehement defence of Bush would not be necessary, and relaxed. A little too much: he swayed on his feet again. Bush reached for him, but the doctor seized him first and gently but firmly maneuvered him so that he was sitting on one of the beds. "Mild blood loss, laceration...what the kriff did that to your side?"

"A wood splinter thrown up by cannon," Hornblower said wearily. 

"Thrown up by a _cannon shot?_ What is this, the Dark Ages? Next thing you'll be telling me that the same thing took off that leg of yours," he added, turning to Bush.

"As a matter of fact, sir, it did."

The doctor's jaw dropped. "Admiral Piett," he said in a voice that only just failed to be a shout, "where in the name of the Force have you been and _what_ have you been doing?"

Piett straightened despite his wound, and Veers had to admire the man’s tenacity.

“We, Doctor,” the Admiral said with dignity, despite being covered in smoke, and blood, and sweat, “were busy defeating the enemy on the high seas. And I will have you know….”

“Yes, yes all right,”: Henley interrupted impatiently, “it is astonishing how you all can manage to be utterly careless with your lives no matter what manner of battle you fight. _Force!_ You were hit by a bullet was it? And it’s…...kriffing hells and all their suburbs it’s still in there! Lying down. _Now._ ”

He pointed imperiously with the scanner.

Veers helped to maneuver Piett to a bed as Henley summoned back up for the multiple patients he was dealing with. 

The princess was easing off Piett’s duty jacket, and on the bed next to him Bush was physically restraining a protesting Hornblower from rising. 

“You may both be Admirals but this is my command and you are both staying here until I say you may leave,” Henley informed them in starchy tones. 

Veers gave Piett an exceedingly superior look before turning to Bush.

“Shall we resume that interrupted tour, Captain?” he offered, deeply enjoying the princess’s fond scolding in the background.

Bush cast a worried glance at Hornblower, who was currently the dubious recipient of Dr. Henley's full attention, and seemed to be doing his best to pretend that nothing out of the ordinary was going on.

“Jacket off,” Henley demanded in no uncertain terms.

“These are our guests…” Piett tried, grunting as the princess retrieved a small misshapen piece of metal from his side with the Force.

“And one needs medical attention,” his friend told him. “Mr. Bush has not yet seen the glory in the Lady’s hangar bay, Firmus. Would you deny him that?”

“Oh for….”

But the doors were already hissing shut on Piett’s reply.

It did not quite sit right with Bush to leave his captain (Hornblower might have been promoted, but to Bush he would always be his captain) in the hands of a doctor he had never met, aboard a whole ship of strangers -- what was more, a ship of a kind he had never seen before, where, should something go wrong, Bush had no knowledge of what to do or how to help, or even how to get back to Hornblower's side. 

Veers shot a glance at the Captain and read his expression correctly. 

“I assure you, sir, Dr. Henley may be more acerbic than sarlacc venom, but he knows his business and is quite literally the best physician I know. And you may not tell him I said that on pain of death,” he added, glaring at the Captain, who met his gaze with a warning frown of his own, but nodded once.

"All right then," he said, "where are we going, sir?"

“Back to the Lady’s largest hangar bay,” Veers replied. “We landed there, but as you and I got distracted….”

"Necessarily distracted," Bush said with a smile.

“So true,” Veers agreed as the lift swept them down once more. 

He deeply appreciated the sea Captain’s awe as they approached his Herd, lined neatly along the bay walls, safely stored for action. Veers reflected that the bay could easily fit three of the Nonsuch and wondered how Bush felt in such an enormous space. 

His five story walkers were imposing, even at rest, and he led Bush toward number five---his own personal AT-AT.

“Would you like to go up, sir?” he asked, smiling at Bush’s unhidden awe.

Bush turned to him with growing excitement written on his face. "Can we?" he asked.

“Mr. Bush,” Veers told him, “you are in for a treat.”

*****

Accordingly, when Veers heard a voice outside the walker, he realized that they had been inside for roughly two hours. 

He rose and undid the hatch, offering a hand up to Bush and both of them looked out and down to see a lone trooper standing on the deck.

“General,” Dogma said, with a quick salute. “Lord Vader would like your presence, sir, in his conference room.”

“When?” he asked.

“Now, sir. I wasn’t entirely clear, but the words ‘....the kriffing hells happened’ were uttered in my hearing.”

_Right away then._

“Mr. Bush,” he said, turning to the man, “I apologize….”

"No apology necessary, sir. Am I right in thinking that he hasn't gotten a report on your and Admiral Piett's little jaunt to _Nonsuch?_ "

Huge oversight on Veers’ part, and he winced internally. “That would be spot on, Captain,” he said as they made it back to the deck.

He wiped the grin off of Dogma’s face with one look.

“Trooper, please escort Mr. Bush to some guest quarters. I will check in with you when I am finished.”

With that, General Veers was off for the lift, moving at a remarkable pace for a man who was not in fact running. Bush was familiar with a variety of admirals, and none of them were men he would have particularly wanted to report to after an unexplained absence of an entire day, especially one which had resulted both in injuries and in a visit from foreign naval officers. He turned his attention to the man Veers had called "trooper." He was wearing strange white armour, heavily scuffed and marked with abstract designs in blue, and had a v-shaped tattoo on his face which matched the paint on the helmet he carried under his arm. If Bush was right about General Veers' position on the Lady, he was the equivalent of a marine. 

“Sir, I’m Dogma, expert with a blaster rifle and terror to our enemies. And you are?”

"Captain William Bush of HMS _Nonsuch,_ " Bush answered, matching Dogma's cheerful tones, "flag captain to Admiral Sir Horatio Hornblower. Together I dare say we make a terror to the French."

“Ok Captain, I don’t know what a lot of those words mean.” He paused, considering,  
as they walked out of the bay.

“Have you ah… been on a super star destroyer before, Captain?”

"I have not," Bush said. "It's quite the eye-opener, I must say."

Dogma grinned widely. “Did you have plans other than waiting for the General, sir?”

Bush returned the grin. Veers had not, after all, specified when he was to be escorted to guest quarters, and this was the opportunity of a lifetime. "I hadn't made any," he said, "but I would welcome ideas."

Dogma's face lit up with glee. "Ever fired a blaster rifle?" he asked.

"No," Bush said. 

"Want to learn?"

Bush found himself caught up in the man's enthusiasm. "Yes, by jingo, I do!"


	3. Safe Harbour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The two Admirals having been apprehended by Dr. Henley, Veers goes to a meeting with Lord Vader and Bush has great fun in the shooting range. But then an Admiral goes missing......

Veers stepped into Lord Vader’s conference room and pulled his shoulders back. There was really no way this was going to sound good so he needed to stick to facts. His commander had never cared for waffling and Veers was not one to give it either.

“You wished to see me, my Lord?”

An eyebrow raise and intense blue eyes studied him for two very long seconds.

“Yes, General and you know why you’re here so do tell me what my Admiral is doing with a piece of lead in his side---lead I ask you---and who the two strangers are whom you have brought onto  _ my ship _ .”

_ You’re Iron Max. Act like it. _

“Yes, my Lord. That would be Admiral Lord Hornblower and Captain William Bush. We have made their acquaintance after speaking at a symposium recently and thought they might appreciate a tour of the Lady. They were gracious enough to ah, give us a visit to their ship.”

A beat.

“What symposium was that again?”

_ Oh kriffing, kriffing hells. That wasn’t meant to come out. _

Veers coughed lightly.  _ You lived through Hoth…. _ “Ah, yes, my Lord, the Admiral and I were asked to speak on the topic of …..respectfully circumspect ways to deal with challenging superior officers. These gentlemen were also asked to speak. I had understood you knew….”

“Oh I did.” Lord Vader lifted an eyebrow. “I just wanted to hear it from your lips. Go on.”

_ He was being made to suffer then. Brilliant. _

“In the process of visiting their vessel, we came under enemy fire, my Lord. Piett was hit as was Admiral Hornblower I believe.”

“Thus the trail of blood on the bridge,” Lord Vader said monotone. “How did you manage to let  _ that  _ happen, General?”   
  


_ How did he…..? He’d  _ **_met_ ** _ Piett before, correct? _ _  
  
_

“Apologies, my Lord. I will endeavor to be faster next time the Admiral slips off to the bridge with fresh injuries.”

“I heard the sarcasm, Veers,” Lord Vader replied, pointing at him, and really two points in a matter of hours. He blamed Piett.

His Lordship’s commlink chimed.

Without moving his gaze from Veers, the former Dark Lord flicked it on.

“Yes?”

“My Lord, apologies, I understood the General was with you.”

“That is correct Admiral, though it was my understanding you were to be in sickbay.”

“Yes, my Lord,” and even through the comm, Veers could hear Piett’s barely concealed impatience. “But your daughter has worked wonders, and the bigger issue is that no one can ah….find Admiral Hornblower. Or Captain Bush for that matter.”

“You  _ lost  _ your guests, Admiral?” drawled his Lordship.

Veers tried and failed to suppress the glee at Piett sitting in the hot seat. He sort of deserved it….

“My Lord…..” Piett paused, and Veers could practically  _ hear  _ the swearing that was no doubt running through his friend’s head at the moment. 

“Yes,” Piett sighed. “And apologies, but we need to find them….”

“Indeed we do, Admiral,” their commander purred. “Do not worry. I am very willing to help rectify your mistakes.”

****

Dogma shook his head at the array of blasters set out at the range: mostly stormtrooper weapons, a couple of old DC-15 carbines, and a moderately impressive array of pistols. Not what he would want to show off to someone who had never fired a blaster before. 

_ Which. How did you manage to be a naval officer all your life and never fire a blaster? Sure, there were the Core-world aristocrats' sons who weren't worth their weight in damp tissue paper, but he'd wear a stormtrooper helmet if Bush was one of those; the jury-rigged prosthetic would have ruled it out even if the accent hadn't. Then there was the fact that he'd never seen this sort of a uniform before in his life, and the longnecks had been pretty darn comprehensive in their listing of "people you might need to shoot at" when he was on Kamino. But the questions could wait. He was playing host, and he was going to do a good job of it, and that meant not introducing his guest to an E11 _ .

"Right, taking a detour by my locker," he said to the slightly confused Captain. "If I'm gonna show you a blaster rifle I'm gonna show you a proper blaster rifle."

"Which those aren't?" Bush asked.

"They're okay, if you just want to, I dunno, miss a target and shoot things that aren't in armour. But if you want to actually win a fight and hit what you're aiming at, no. I've got one of my own for that."

One detour to the 501st's barracks later, Dogma led the Captain onto the range, carrying a real blaster. "Right then," he said. "So how familiar are you with blasters?"

"Not at all. We use these where I come from." 

With that, he pulled out a pair of gorgeously worked wooden weapons with brass fittings, which were generally shaped like blasters, but bore no technical resemblance except for the barrel and trigger. "What are those?" Dogma asked, intrigued.

"Pistols. Fire a half-inch lead bullet into whatever you aim them at as long as you're not more than ten feet away. But we generally use them in hand-to-hand fighting so that doesn't much matter anyway."

Dogma wondered what the range officer would say about having to clean a fractured ball of lead out of the wall. A target that could stand up against plasma bolts could probably stand up to a slugthrower too, but the range wasn't strictly designed for it. But Bush was offering him one of the pistols, barrel pointed downrange. "Want to try it?" he asked.

_ What the hell. _ "Nothing I'd like better."

He picked one of the nearer targets, keeping in mind that this was apparently not an accurate weapon, aimed down the barrel, wondering at the lack of sights, and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. He held the pistol still, wondering if there'd been a misfire, and then heard Bush snort quietly. "Sorry," he said, "you have to cock it first."

Seeing Dogma's continued confusion, Bush reached over and pulled back a small lever on the back of the pistol until it clicked and stayed where it was. "Now it'll fire," he said.

Dogma aimed and pulled the trigger again. There was a split-second delay, and then an ear splitting bang, a flash from the muzzle, another split-second delay, and a resounding  _ clang _ . If anyone asked him afterwards whether he jumped at the noise, Dogma would have stoutly denied it and informed them that he had merely stiffened, ready to react to a threat.

It was woefully off target, but he had to confess he didn’t mind. It had been gloriously loud and very destructive.

“Not terribly accurate,” he commented looking at the Captain, “but I do love explosions.”’

Bush gave him a slightly furrowed brow. Dogma was used to that expression though, having been on the receiving end of it numerous times. "Well then," he said, handing the pistol back and picking up the rifle, "now I'll show you how this works."

Bush evidently already knew how to hold a rifle, and after showing him the safety, Dogma pointed him downrange and waited to find out what would happen. Unfortunately he had forgotten to point out that there was a difference between semiautomatic and automatic settings, and Bush's first attempt at firing left a wild trail of scorch marks on the wall. His second burst was considerably closer to the target, and Dogma was impressed even as he explained that if Bush were (for some inconceivable reason) to want to fire only one bolt per pull of the trigger, he needed to put the switch on "semi". Bush agreed with him that in combat that would be an odd thing to do, and Dogma decided once and for all that he was the right sort for the 501st.

*******

It was Lieutenant Burns who finally discovered Captain Bush at the firing range with Private Dogma, who was leading the aforementioned Captain through a training course, each of them equipped with a DC-15A which, by the look of it, had been heavily modified in ways that were probably not regulation. Bush was by no means cut out to be a sniper, but he was far from a poor shot either and what he lacked in accuracy he made up in zeal. The majority of the training droids had already fallen and the rest had been driven under cover. Burns was almost reluctant to disturb the two men; they were so clearly enjoying themselves. But duty called. "Captain Bush?" he asked.

"Ah, yes," that gentleman replied, unsure if he was speaking to a superior or an equal.

"Bridge sent me to ask if you've seen the Admiral, sir. Hornblower, that is, not Piett." Burns threw in the "sir" to clarify things. After all, a Captain did outrank a Lieutenant, even if they were from different navies.

Bush shook his head. "Not a sign of him."

"Kriff. We haven't seen him either since he scarpered from sickbay with Baldwin. Sir."

"And when was that?" Bush had nearly forgotten the rifle now and was looking equal parts worried and thunderous.

"Nearly three hours ago."

"What the devil? This Baldwin fellow was supposed to look after him! What was he thinking? He could be anywhere!"

"We can't find Baldwin either sir. We think they went into engineering."

"Well, why can't you find them if you know where they went?"

"Engineering runs the length of the ship, sir. Eleven miles."

"Good God. We'll never get him out."

"We do have an ensign saying he found a cold coffee cup on Level 9 near the secondary power conduits to the hyperdrive."

"Coffee? Well, that's a start then."

*****

Piett found Veers as they both made their separate ways toward engineering.

“ _ You _ are supposed to be in sickbay,” the General informed him with a frown.

Piett rolled his eyes. “I’m fine. Princess did her magic, Henley gave me a transfusion. All fine. And technically Admiral Hornblower is supposed to be there too. Force knows how and when he snuck out!”

At this juncture, Burns came puffing up, an anxious looking Captain Bush in tow.

“Oh good there’s one,” Veers said dryly. 

Bush chose to ignore the verbal jab in favour of asking, "What's happened?"

“I was hoping you might have some answers, Captain,” Piett replied as they headed toward Level 9.

"I haven't seen him since we left him in sickbay," Bush said. "I've been at the firing range with Dogma, and before that in the hangar bay with General Veers."

Piett shot Veers a look which the General returned unrepentantly.

“All right, Piett, does the Lady have the footage from sickbay? Because how the  _ kriff  _ did the Admiral give everyone the slip? His uniform isn’t exactly subtle! No offense, Captain,” Veers adds as an after thought with a glance to Bush.

Bush shrugged. "They're not meant to be, though I'll take the blue over red and white any day."

Piett tapped furiously on a data pad. “Thank you Lady,” he said, sighing. “Baldwin is going to hear about this. Follow me.”

Their small band trooped after the small Admiral as they navigated their way deep into the heart of the massive engineering bays, Bush at the rear, trailing behind as he paused every few yards to look up and around at the massive power conduits that wound to and fro overhead, lit by the brilliant glow of the Lady's plasma core. It was a few minutes' walk, however, before the core itself was clearly visible, and Bush stopped dead when he saw it, glowing like a miniature sun, too bright to look at straight on and casting all the rest of the bay in a stark light like lightning. "What…" he said softly, trailing off before he could finish the question.

“Ah,” said Piett, throwing a bright smile over his shoulder. “That is the Lady’s plasma core. Source of all the power on the ship. Rather phenomenal, isn’t it?”

“She likes to refer to it as her ‘heart’,” Veers added. Lowering his voice he continued to Bush, “which is incidentally, also how she refers to Piett.”

"She talks to you?" Bush asked. "Obviously she's not the lady we met outside the bridge, but…"

Piett threw a suspicious glance at them, but as he was leading, he needed to keep his eyes on the route.

“Not talks exactly…” Veers responded. “She does to Lord Vader. And the Princess. But she communicates through….lights. And our data pads. With Piett, he can sense her emotions now to an extent but…”

Bush peered curiously at Veers' datapad as though expecting it to do something. 

A bright yellow light blinked at him quite suddenly. Bush blinked in surprise and said tentatively, "Hello? Ma'am?"

Piett paused and turned at this.

Veers’ data pad glowed pink.

“General, is this really the time to introduce the Lady?”

Veers opened his mouth as the Lady sent a small beam of white light at her Admiral.

The General smirked. “I think so.”

Piett sighed, but he was smiling. “All right. Lady, this is Captain Bush, whose friend we are searching for. Bush, the Lady.”

Bush seemed unsure where to look, and settled for saluting the plasma core, saying respectfully, "A pleasure, ma'am."

A broad spectrum of rosy gold light swept them all.

Veers and Bush both looked to Piett for interpretation.

His friend was flushing slightly. “She’s…..very pleased to have us all here.”

“But especially you,” the General said knowingly.

Piett cleared his throat. “Quite, well, shall we find our missing Admiral then?” And he spun back around to take a turn left toward the access tunnel where the ensign had found the coffee cups.

Bush smiled behind his hand as he turned to follow. "Aye aye, sir," he said, ducking to avoid the low ceiling of the tunnel.

“It would be here,” Veers grumbled as easily the tallest of them.

About ten feet in, where the tunnel ceiling hinged open to allow easy access to the power lines inside, they found a neatly folded blue coat trimmed with gold lace, and an Admiral's hat, wedged carefully on top of one of the coolant pipes. Bush retrieved them, shook out the coat, and put the hat under his arm. A few more yards, and then, at long last, they could hear voices echoing down the long corridor.

"This is the hyperspace shunt," Baldwin was saying. "It's not operating at the moment, as our hyperdrive is powered down, but it cools the hyperdrive and prevents the tachyons in the hypermatter from overheating. If the coolant system failed, we'd be blown to atoms when we tried to power up the drive, so there are two failsafe systems -- one of them uses the conduits you put your hat on back there. That's a more traditional liquid coolant-based system, so it's not as efficient, but if both the shunt and the transpacitor failed, it would buy us enough time to power down the drive and find out what was going wrong."

"And tachyons are particles that move faster than light."

"Exactly. When we go into hyperspace…"

Piett cleared his throat meaningfully and there was a marked pause, then the sounds of scrambling. A moment later, Admiral Hornblower appeared from the access ladder in his waistcoat and rolled-up shirtsleeves, face, hands, and white shirt all smeared with grease, looking for all the world like a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "Ha-hm," he said, wiping his hands ineffectually on his trousers, as Baldwin climbed down the ladder after him. "Gentlemen."

Bush sighed in quiet relief before saluting. "Sir."

"Has something happened?" Hornblower asked, looking at the delegation which had followed him into the maintenance tunnels.

“Sir,” Veers said, with the strangest feeling of deja vu at the expression on Hornblower’s face.  _ How many times had he seen the identical look on Piett’s countenance? _ “You’ve been here for three hours. According to the Doctor, you were not officially released from sickbay.”

Piett nodded in agreement. “Yes, Admiral. Though I am deeply gratified to see that you appreciate how magnificent our Lady is, it is not wise to leave sickbay with the wound you sustained.”

Veers knew with certainty his friend was deliberately  _ not  _ looking at the General in light of this appalling hypocrisy.

"Three hours? I did not think it had been so long. But my wound, if it deserves the name, has been bandaged, there is nothing more to be done for it, and I think I know when I have pushed beyond the bounds of my own endurance." The last sentence was delivered in a rather prickly tone and an apprehensive look crossed Bush's face briefly.

“Do you now,” Veers commented dryly, feeling slightly fed up with Admirals and their shenanigans. “Because  _ my  _ Admiral is a  _ terrible  _ judge of that.”

Piett huffed, but was ignored.

Hornblower's face underwent a curious transformation and finished by going entirely blank of readable emotion. He cleared his throat testily. Bush quickly stepped forward and said in a low voice, "I believe General Veers is simply concerned with your wellbeing, sir."

"I appreciate the General's concern for my well being, Bush, but…"

Bush took the grave risk of interrupting his Admiral. "You've seen their doctor, sir. Perhaps it's just as well to keep him happy."

There was a moment's delay, and then Hornblower sighed. "Very well, Bush, I suppose it was time I came down anyway. I don't suppose you...oh. Thank you."

Bush had anticipated the request and held out Hornblower's coat. The Admiral reached for it and then stopped, seeming to notice the grime on his hands for the first time. "I don't suppose there's a washroom near?" he asked, examining himself for further evidence of his climb through the Lady's tunnels.

A beat and then Piett realized what he meant.

“Ah. Yes, Admiral, we do have freshers, but allow me to give you the comfort of some private quarters for that. We could have your uniforms cleaned quite swiftly as well if you like.”

Bush had been examining his own sleeves, which smelled rather strongly of plasma smoke, and at this he looked relieved. "I would appreciate that very much, sir," Hornblower said.

Accordingly their strange group made their way back out, Veers in the lead now and Piett bringing up the rear, debriefing with Baldwin who was looking torn between guilt at the stress caused to others, and elated that people with such lofty ranks were thirsty for his knowledge.

Bush paused to salute again as they passed the plasma core, and Hornblower looked curiously at him, but followed suit after a moment, perhaps having guessed the significance of the gesture from whatever Baldwin had told him.

That same rosy light swept them and Piett snorted behind them in amusement.

“Lady, this attention is going to your head a bit, I think.”

“What’s she doing?” Veers called back.

“Just flashed up permanent crew quarters for our guests. No, Lady of mine, they are not staying. They have their own ship to return to.”

********

After a brief detour to some guest quarters, which led to a brief distraction wherein Hornblower marveled at the effectiveness of the onboard laundry services, it was not long before they were once again gathered in the Lady’s hangar bay to say their goodbyes.

“You are welcome aboard anytime, sir,” Piett said, holding out his hand to the other Admiral.

"Very much appreciated, sir. And the same goes for you, should you wish to visit us again."

And Veers watched those hazel eyes  _ glow _ , so he stepped up hastily. “We would be happy to, though I do not think it will all that soon, as we have much to do out here, don’t we, Firmus?”

His friend was brought back to reality and he gave the General a rueful glance. “Very true, Max. Captain Bush, a pleasure, sir.”

"Likewise, sir." Bush clasped Piett's hand firmly.

Veers shook Hornblower’s hand and then Bush’s. He handed the Captain a heavy cut glass bottle. 

“For all the times you’ll need this, Mr. Bush.” He leaned in to whisper, “Usually after your Admiral does something utterly brave and reckless.”

Bush accepted the bottle with a conspiratorial grin. "Much appreciated, sir...speaking of which, sir, what do you have in your pocket?"

Veers was a little baffled at this until he realised that Bush was not looking at him any longer. Hornblower patted at his trouser pockets, frowned, and produced a datapad. "Oh," he said. "I rather forgot I had this...Baldwin lent it to me. Should I…" he waved the device vaguely as though expecting Baldwin to materialise and reclaim his property.

“I can take that, Admiral,” Piett said holding out a hand and smiling at the wistful expression on the man’s face. “You would certainly get some questions regarding  _ that _ , I would imagine.”

"Yes, I suppose I would," Hornblower said ruefully.

“Here,” Piett said, pulling out a book, an actual book made of flimsi, and Veers raised his eyebrows. “This is a book on plasma engineering. There is no possible way it could be achieved in your era, so I don’t worry about giving it to you.”

Hornblower's face lit up, though he tried, as usual, to hide it. "Thank you, sir. Thank you very much."

“Well…” Veers wasn’t quite sure what to say, but Piett did.

The shuttle ramp was behind the two Englishmen and as they prepared to ascend, Piett said, “Safe stars, gentlemen.”

Hornblower said, "And a fair wind and a following sea," and, with perfectly drilled precision, Admiral and Captain turned to face their hosts and saluted for a long moment. Then they turned to walk up the ramp together.

Veers and Piett watched the shuttle dwindle to a speck, side by side in the bay, and the General drew a secret sigh of relief. His Admiral was in the stars, just where he should be.

  
  
  


On the quarterdeck of the  _ Nonsuch _ , Admiral Lord Hornblower looked out over the sea, and breathed in the salt air contentedly. Bush stood beside him, respecting his admiral's silence. Their gifts were safely stowed in their quarters. But for those, they would have been inclined to think the past week to be a dream. But it was definitely true that there was a book on plasma engineering in Admiral Lord Hornblower's quarters, and a cut glass bottle with a label nobody could read (but which contained a truly excellent brandy) in Captain Bush's. "A very curious day we have had, Bush," Hornblower said thoughtfully, hand resting over the place on his side where a splinter had wounded him that morning, and where now there was only a healed scar, courtesy of the abrasive Doctor Henley.

"Wish I could have kept one of those blaster rifles they had," Bush said a little wistfully. "But that'd have raised too many questions, I suppose."

Hornblower laughed. "I'm afraid it would, Bush. But then I would have liked a datapad...well. Perhaps we'll visit again."

"If we do, sir, let me know before you head off with Baldwin?"

Horatio laughed again. "No promises, Mr. Bush."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this little adventure ends happily here. However, Morwen got tackled by the angst muse and so there's an angsty and roughly canon-compliant epilogue. But, since that carries with it some serious mood whiplash, we haven't posted it. Let us know in the comments if you want to read it or if you'd prefer the happy version!


	4. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The angsty epilogue, which is as compliant with the Hornblower series as it is possible for an instalment of this story to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was on the fence about posting this, but a commenter asked so here you go! I'll have a box of tissues ready at the end if you need them. Warning for mentioned major character death. If you want to keep the happy ending untarnished in your mind, read no further!

Admiral Lord Hornblower woke up, and looked around in confusion. He was in his bedroom at Smallbridge House. _That's the strangest dream I've ever had,_ he thought, and then winced and bowed his head as the memory of Bush, so real and thoroughly alive in his dream, came home to him again sharply. _Bush is dead,_ he reminded himself furiously. _Dead for years. Damn. Damn and blast._ There were tears on his cheeks, he noted distantly, and...he was in his uniform. His full uniform. In bed.

He scrambled out of bed, noted distantly that he was wearing his boots, and clapped a hand to his trouser pocket where the datapad had been in his dream. There was something there. He pulled it out. _Plasma Engineering: Basic Principles,_ the spine read.

"Impossible," he breathed out.

He opened the book, and, flipping through it, recalled word after word from Baldwin's explanation of the Lady's hyperdrive and coolant systems. It matched what he was reading in the book. "No dream could be that coherent, that vivid."

 _Maybe we'll visit again…_ The words, his own words in the dream, echoed through his mind. He'd been quite certain then. It had felt right to say them to Bush...to Bush who had called him "Admiral" as though it were the most natural thing in the world, though he had died before Hornblower ever took that title, to Bush who had acted, not as Hornblower would have expected him to act, but as he would have acted himself…

He shelved the book carefully next to Gibbon; a rare place of honour but one that felt fitting for a gift of such significance. "Safe stars, Admiral," he said softly to it, resting his hand on the spine. "General." Then he paused for a moment. "Mr. Bush. Until we meet again."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *offers box of tissues*


End file.
